Ahhh My Friend’s First Fic 🫶pls Support Her~

HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

word count — 9 k

genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk

author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (fanart in the header)

masterlist

You first noticed him six months ago.

It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.

No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.

Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.

It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush. 

That had to be it.

You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.

But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.

He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine. 

5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.

6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day. 

7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later. 

7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.

10:00 AM: Shift end. 

10:30 AM: Rush to classes.

Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.

Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with. 

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.

Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.

Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.

You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.

The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.

Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.

It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.

Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.

Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.

The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."

It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.

For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."

You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?

"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."

"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."

And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks. 

The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic. 

And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?

You almost wanted to laugh.

After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.

"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.

Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"

But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students. 

He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.

That had to be it.

Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes. 

"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.

"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.

"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.

"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."

One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. 

7:16. 

7:17. 

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all. 

But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta. 

At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."

He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.

He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators. 

And you never wanted that morning to end.

Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.

The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.

"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.

"When does your shift end?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.

But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella. 

Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.

"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.

"You didn't have to—"

"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.

The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.

"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.

As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.

It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.

Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."

"Cardiology," he replied simply.

“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.

"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."

"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.

As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.

It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.

You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"

You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"

"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"

"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."

"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"

"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.

"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.

You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."

"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"

Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."

"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."

"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.

"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."

He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.

"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening. 

"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."

"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"

"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."

You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"

"Perfectly.”

"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."

"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."

As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.

The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.

"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"

"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.

"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."

Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"

You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.

"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"

Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.

"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."

"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.

"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"

Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.

"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.

"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"

"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."

Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him. 

"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.

And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.

"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"

"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.

"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"

You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.

Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'

Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'

You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'

His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this. 

Way too much.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.

"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.

"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."

"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."

He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"

"I told her you're probably busy—"

"What time?"

You stared at him. "What?"

"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"

"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."

"This isn't funny!"

"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."

"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"

"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."

"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Hmm?"

"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."

He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you." 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.

He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs. 

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.

At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.

Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.

"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"

But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."

You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.

"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."

He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."

Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"

He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.

The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.

Insufferable man.

The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.

He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.

"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.

"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."

You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself. 

Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.

His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.

"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.

"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."

Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."

"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.

As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.

By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.

It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real. 

The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

"At what?"

"Playing pretend."

His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"

The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.

"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"

"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing.  When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."

"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."

"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?" 

"You're doing it again," you whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Being too convincing."

A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—

"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist. 

The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting. 

It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.

"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."

Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."

"I'm sure I can—" he started.

"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."

You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"

Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.

He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.

As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."

"You're impossible," you groaned.

"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."

Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"

You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."

"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?" 

You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."

He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.

"Nice periodic table," he finally said.

"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."

You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.

You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."

He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."

"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."

He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath. 

"I would never," he said.

"You can turn around now."

He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."

"You're a terrible liar.”

You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him. 

Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.

The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.

"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."

The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.

"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."

"The braces years were particularly charming."

You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."

"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."

"They care about you. It's nice."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"

"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."

"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."

Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"

Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight. 

Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness. 

You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"

This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. 

His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.

He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."

His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.

He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.

His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.

He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away. 

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.

It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern. 

He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.

And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile. 

When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from “Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”

Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."

Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.

A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.

He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.

Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.

You'll probably never get enough of that.

He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."

Three little words.

But those three words little changed everything.

It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life. 

And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.

But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.

"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."

"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."

"I was building suspense."

"You were being creepy."

"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"

And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.

After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.

masterlist

author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.

anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.

wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

He's a walking green thumb green flag.

Confession Blog

ihatethecolorblue: Hi! I have no idea why I made this decision at 3 a.m. I think I needed to create a blog to vent everything inside me. I’m about to lose my mind because of the person I hate most in this world, someone I wish would disappear. This person, whose eyes inspired the name of this account, acts incredibly kind to everyone else but is a complete asshole when it comes to me. He doesn’t approve of anything I do. Worse yet, when I try to explain myself, he doesn’t even bother to listen.

Like I said, I don’t know why I started this blog. I guess it’s true that, all decisions made after 2 a.m. are inherently bad. Just like the ridiculous erotic fantasies I have about the person I hate. I know anyone reading this is probably asking, “What the hell are you talking about?” But in this life, the more you hate someone, the more you end up wanting them.

This is a confession blog where I share what I’ve written about my university professor—the one I hate but also wish would fuck me in every possible position.

If by some chance this blog is seen by him or anyone who knows me, yes, I am aware that I need to bathe in holy water and cleanse myself.

모 pairing: professor!gojo x college student fem! reader

모 topics: professor gojo au, enemies to lovers, age gap, forbidden love, one sided attraction, blog user reader, academic girl reader, teacher-student relationship, she fell first he fell harder, jazz bar dates, gojo's love language is physical touch, secrets

모 warnings: +18 Minors Do Not Interact +18 (explicit sexual content, mature language, angst and more angst, future anxiety, mentioning of old bad habits)

모 chapters:

⤷ chapter 1 - coming soon !

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

blue hearts divider by @thecutestgrotto

web side theme dividers by @isisjupiter 

Long Distance - Blurb

Gojo x Reader: Fluff

Little draft, might continue this another time.

You stared at the ended Discord call on your screen.

12 hrs and 8 min

You just spent over twelve hours talking to some random guy in Japan. Broken English. Broken Japanese.

Those two semesters of Japanese you took in college for your world language credit? Guess they were finally paying off—all because you decided to join a random Minecraft server at three in the morning. Of course, that meant it was daytime in Japan, a neat little twelve-hour time difference.

You tried not to dwell too much on the call: how he’d invited you to join his town on the server, how quick-witted and surprisingly charming he’d been.

No, no.

This was just a fleeting crush. A reaction to being showered with attention. A temporary burst of dopamine. You were not falling for someone halfway across the world. Absolutely not.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a Discord notification.

青眼の白龍:“Switch? Animal Crossing…?”

A second message followed right after: “Your voice…cute!”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you stared at the screen in disbelief.

What the hell.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then you typed a response:

“I have a Switch! :) Play tomorrow? It’s night here.”

The reply didn’t come immediately. You watched the typing bubbles appear and disappear a few times, as though he kept rephrasing whatever he wanted to say.

Finally, it came through.

“Yes. Call. Tomorrow! 💙”

You sighed, shutting down your PC before heading to bed. Your heart thumped a little too loudly in your chest. It’s just a simple little crush, right?

Sunday arrived—a bittersweet reminder that it was your last free day before the work week began. The timezone difference weighed on your mind; realistically, you wouldn’t have time to chat much with him during the weekdays.

As you booted up your Switch, the familiar Discord ringtone chimed, startling you. Crap, you didn’t have online membership to visit other islands! You scrambled to enter your credit card information, fingers fumbling slightly from your nerves.

Then, his voice came through.

“Moshi-moshi!”

Light, chipper, and laced with a soft giggle, his greeting made your heart flutter. “Hello, y/n!”

You froze for a second, gripping your Switch tighter as your chest went pitter-patter. You didn’t even know what he looked like. Most of your conversation last night was surface-level: basic introductions, Minecraft plans, and a few scattered questions about each other’s lives.

Yet, here you were, feeling your cheeks warm like you were talking to someone you’d known for years.

“Hello…Satoru,” you said, testing his name carefully. Then a moment of panic hit. “Wait—is that okay? Or do you prefer Gojo?”

His laughter came again, soft and easy.

“I like Satoru,” he said, a playful edge creeping into his tone. You could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “Let’s…play?”

There was a hint of hesitation in his words, the careful pauses betraying his uncertainty in English. It mirrored how awkward and foreign speaking Japanese felt for you. But his effort was impressive—he handled basic conversation with surprising ease.

You smiled to yourself, settling onto the couch with your Switch. “Yeah, let’s play.”

fratboy!satoru having a crush on you is kinda like burning your hand on a hot stove.

it sucks.

satoru is cocky in all meanings of the word. he’s constantly on top of tables, playing beer pong, or dangling and swinging from the chandelier in the frat house that is still up by the grace of God.

yet somehow, despite walking into class 25 minutes late and complaining about his hangover for the rest of your hour long class, he still maintains nearly perfect grades.

every girl has a crush on him, or thinks he’s the scum of the earth. every guy wants to be him and he knows this. he carries himself with such confidence that it’s not hard to see why he’s so popular.

and then there’s you.

you applied to this prestigious college in hopes of getting your degree and getting the hell out of there the first chance you got. somehow, you got in and are now dedicated to spending your next 5 years stuck in this school

and stuck with satoru.

he comes from a family of immense wealth. you were pretty sure he didn’t even need to go to college or have a job, and yet here he was in all his douchebaggy glory. everytime he walked past girls would giggle and guys would grumble

but he was focused on you.

you never made a noise when he walked past, never even looked up from the dumb tiktok’s you were watching on your phone. even when he made a spectacle in class, you wouldn’t even spare him a giggle or an eye roll. to you, it was like he didn’t even exist.

your lack of presence had somehow caught his eye, and through the flood of people that he saw everyday, he was stuck on you.

-

“i literally don’t get it.” satoru grumbled into his pillow as his roommate, suguru, rolled his eyes for the trillionth time.

“why do you care so much? it’s not like the flood of girls nipping at your heels is gonna go dry anytime soon.” suguru massaged the temples on his head, desperately trying to relieve himself from the satoru induced migraine

“it’s different! i want an eyeroll, a scoff, something!” satoru flops over on his back and looks to his roommate

“you’re annoyed because she doesn’t acknowledge your existence?”

“exactly!”

“narcissist.” satoru groaned at his roommate and pouted into his pillow once again.

“your just salty your bumble date ghosted you.” satoru claimed, and quickly retracted as a pillow was throw at his head.

-

the next class you had early in the morning made you groan as you sat down and opened your bag to grab your computer.

“is this seat taken?” your head snaps up while you meet bright blue eyes, although they were covered by dark sunglasses.

you whip your head around to the plethora of empty seats, even the ones in the back held no one, which was a miracle in itself.

“uhm, no?” you scooped up some of your items to make room for the lengthy boy as he sat down next to you. he leaned his head on his hand as he eyed you up and down.

“i don’t believe we’ve met. i’m satoru gojo, although you can just call me satoru, gorgeous.” he had a cocky grin on his face, sure that he was being charming by extending the pleasure of calling him by his name to you and by the slightest compliment.

“yeah, okay.” you nodded slightly, praying to whatever God would listen that he’d just leave you alone. his smile faltered at your dismissive tone, although he was far from done playing with you.

“what are you majoring in?” his eyes were still fixed on you, as if some omnipotent creature was whispering all the ways to make you tick, and he was listening as if it were scripture.

you rolled your eyes and spared him a glance although lacked a response as you continued to furiously type the paper that was due for this class.

after that blatant dismissal, he tried everything.

a large, very expensive looking bouquet by your dorm? he found them in the dumpster the next morning. causing a ruckus in the quad? you walked past him as if he were trash on the sidewalk. a pyramid of redbulls inside your dorm (how’d he get in?) was found in a donation box for other students who were struggling. nothing he did could ever catch your eye.

although he didn’t know the flowers you got him made you violently sneeze, so they were a hazard to keep in your living space. he didn’t know that the day he tackled suguru in the quad with the prayer of a fleeting glance, you were to focused on the mid term that was worth half your grade. the redbulls he left in your dorm just happened to be your least favorite flavor, and it probably was t healthy to drink all of those yourself. it wasn’t that you were purposely ignoring him, you just genuinely didn’t notice his foolish antics were to get your attention.

-

it wasn’t until the end of the year that satoru finally snapped.

he found you in the library, surrounded by books and half drunken iced coffee. you looked different from the girls that usually followed him. not bad different, but raw. real.

you didn’t notice him until his shadow blocked the flow of light that illuminated your books.

you looked up, sighing slightly before pulling out and earbud

“if this is about the flowers, i’m allergic-“

“get up.” his tone was different from the cocky frat boy you knew. he was nervous. nervous in your presence, nervous in the line of your sight. he looked like and insecure school boy finally talking to his crush

“excuse me?” you watched as he scooped up the books and carefully shoved them into your bag, pulling your chair out while you were still sat in it.

“i wanna talk.” he pulled you by your wrist, still holding your backpack as he made a dash for the exit

“we can’t just talk here?” your feet were clumsy following the man in front of you, considering he was a good foot taller that you.

“it’s important, just…” he paused, the words fluttered on his tounge but he bit back before it all came rushing out. “please.”

that shut you up.

he rounded the corner and shoved open the door to a long forgotten stair well.

gojo crossed his arms, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, exposing the frustration flickering in those icey eyes. “what is your deal with me?”

you blinked.

“huh?”

“i’ve tried everything. everything,” he said, voice sharper than his usual smooth tone. “you ignore me like i’m background noise. like i don’t even exist.”

you stared, silent, waiting.

“i mean, do you hate me? did i do something? am I just some frat idiot to you?” he ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “you’re driving me insane and you don’t even care.”

“i do notice you, satoru.” his real name being slipped on your tounge caused his pacing to falter.

for the first time all year, you saw him. rough around the edges, and slightly insecure. he wasn’t satoru gojo, heir to a fortune many couldn’t comprehend and a total douchebag

he was just… satoru. a boy who didn’t know how to get the attention of someone like you without using elementary tactics.

“you don’t have to do anything dramatic to catch my eye. you don’t have to make small talk about stupid shit to get me to talk to you.”

“i see you, satoru. every over the top stunt, every weird little performance. i’ve seen it all. but the guy who leaves flowers im allergic too in front of my dorm to get attention?” you stood slowly, eyes locking with his. “that’s not who i’m interested in.”

he swallowed. “then who are you interested in?”

you leaned in just enough for your voice to hit him low and clear.

“the real you, whoever that is. it’s up to you to figure that out.”

and then you left him there, quiet for the first time in a long time.

-

the next time you saw satoru, he was just as nervous as last time. his eyes weren’t covered by his glasses and you swore you could see a glimmer of sweat drip down his forehead as he met you for the first class of the day.

“for you.” he held out a small iced coffee, the same one you had ordered for your impromptu study trip in the library.

he had memorized it.

in the small moment he saw to remember it, he had got it perfect.

“no flowers, no stupid tricks. just me.” you smiled as he handed it to you, the condensation on the cup making your hands cold and wet, but you didn’t mind.

“you remembered,” you said.

“ive been paying attention. even if you weren’t.”

you studied him. for once, he didn’t try to fill the silence. he just looked at you. nervous, hopeful, real.

and maybe he was still a little ridiculous. still loud, still dramatic in ways he couldn’t fully shake. but under all of that… there was something honest. something kind.

and maybe that was who satoru was all along.

“your still a frat idiot, satoru.”

“i’m your frat idiot.”

“I love Mark Lee”

— Everyone at some point in their life

💛 this is making me wanna listen to her fearless era again!

the other side of the door

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my gojo as taylor series

--

tsumiki and megumi fushiguro unknowingly cause a damper on your relationship. 

you can feel satoru gloating at your side, his cheek nearly flush with yours, as you click the little arrow on your laptop.

your very meticulously made google calendar was perfect – a play by play of what you were doing at every second of the day – but at the current moment, was very deeply betraying you. 

“we’re already a whole month back, sweetheart.” satoru murmurs. 

you bite down on the softness of your cheek, sinking back against the headboard as you keep clicking, for the smallest sliver of light blue in your calendar. 

it was a little on the nose, but it was the calendar that you shared with satoru – the one that marked all the special events like dates, anniversaries and the like.

and at the current moment, much to your disbelief and to the point that he had been trying to convince you of for the past hour, there had been an absence of him for weeks now. 

you throw in the towel at the tenth consecutive click (silently ignoring that it means that it’s been well over two months now) and slam your computer shut, before turning over to him and frowning. 

“you’ve made your point.” you murmur. 

satoru grins, gloating in full flesh at the meekness in your voice, as he beckons for you to scoot closer to him on the bed. you absentmindedly lean your head against his shoulder, a motion that he welcomes with a quiet kiss on your forehead. 

“have we really not done anything together in more than ten weeks?” you mumble. 

you used to go on dates almost every week. satoru was as spontaneous as it got – any day that you spent with him was almost a guarantee of nothing not going to plan. 

it meant going to the beach in the middle of the night, an unplanned road trip on your day off, and everything in between. 

or it used to mean that. 

satoru pauses for a second, almost like he’s milling over the thought, as he rubs circles into the side of your bicep. 

“it’s just been a while since it’s been just you and me.” satoru notes. 

you sigh. you suppose you worded it wrong the first time.

toji fushiguro dying unknowingly put a damper on your relationship. 

because he left megumi and tsumiki in your wake and two kids – two kids that you had done nothing to prepare for – can and most certainly did turn things upside down. 

it meant that satoru had to work more at the school, that you having any sliver of free time was less, and that the amount of stress you had was through the roof. 

the two of them came with their own special resort of problems – of things that you couldn’t help but worry about. 

megumi wasn’t too fond of satoru. they had their rare moments, but there was something about him that was extremely closed off, to everyone, but to you a little less. and to satoru, extremely so.

his requests to you always came in quietly, asking you to stay next to him until he fell asleep, to forgive him for fighting at school all the time, to promise to never leave him. on the flip side, his irritation with satoru was something that he made sure everyone was aware of. 

tsumiki was very fond of satoru, but she was of most people. sometimes it felt a little obsessive that way – the way she was a little bit too close to her friends at school, the teacher in her class, and satoru.

he thought it was sweet, and at most times you were inclined too as well, but the obsession with being so close all the time was concerning. 

and possibly even more than that, that most of the things you saw felt like they were a figment of your imagination, because satoru was so blind to their plight. 

he didn’t worry about them as much as you did. but sometimes it felt like he didn’t see exactly what it was that you saw – tsumiki awkwardly pushing her food around the plate, red scratches all over megumi’s arms towards the end of the week, and matching pairs puffy eyes when they came down for breakfast in the morning. 

though it wasn’t entirely his fault either. because by some turn of luck, every time they were around him they smiled – laughed at his dumb jokes, turned their nose up at the impressions he did of all of their teachers, and snuck into his classroom between periods to get snacks. 

satoru pokes at the side of your temple. 

“don’t feel too bad now. i know this entire thing has been stressful. especially for you.” he murmurs. 

you shrug. 

“you seem to be taking it just fine.” you note. 

satoru shrugs. 

“i can tell that most of your stress comes from what they’re doing at school. who megumi is fighting with, tsumiki’s friends – i can’t really relate to that because i’m right there with them. granted, tsumiki is two classes up, but her teacher gives me updates all the time.” satoru responds. 

you give him a quiet nod. 

“and since i’m there, i can tell you that they’re fine. he hasn’t fought with anyone in a few weeks now. and tsumiki is really excited to go to this dance.” 

you groan. 

“that dance you signed me up to chaperone for?”  you groan. 

“the very same. it’ll be fun.” 

you curl your nose in disgust. 

“spending my very limited free time giving snacks to a bunch of sweaty kids and asking them to not grind on each other isn’t my idea of fun, satoru. and some of your co-workers freak me out.” 

satoru elbows you in the side. 

“suguru will be there. and plus, it’ll be good for me. you’ll be my date.” satoru responds. 

you lean back against the headboard. 

“you didn’t even ask me to the dance.” 

“it’s sadie hawkins, y/n. girls ask boys, silly.” he responds, flicking at the softness of your cheek. 

you sigh, before turning to him and giving a smile. his hair is slightly damp from the shower he just took, skin still soft from the warmth of the shower. and it’s the thing that you worry about most. 

you’ve slipped away from him because he let you. that you neglected him because of the kids, but at some point, he became so accustomed to it, that it didn’t even bother him anymore. 

“are you going to go to the dance with me, satoru?” 

he gives you a glimmering smile. 

“i thought you’d never ask peach.” 

--

satoru marks it with a big pink heart on the calendar the next morning. 

“what’cha looking at?” you ask, placing your hands on the tops of both of their heads and ruffling their hair. 

“the heart.” megumi states. 

you hum in response, crouching down to be level with their heads. megumi welcomes the touch, leaning back against your knees, as tsumiki nestles her face in the crook of your neck. 

“it’s for the dance.” you respond. 

megumi groans. 

“does that mean miss miwa is going to come over to our house for dinner?” megumi asks. 

you frown. 

“and why would miss miwa come to our house for dinner?” you ask. 

you would rather die than invite miss miwa over to dinner. 

kasumi miwa was tsumiki’s seventh grade teacher who you had the displeasure of meeting three times, each in the worst possible circumstances. 

masked in faceforward politeness and her flashy personality, she had no reservations in correcting you each time you made a mistake when it came to the kid. that pick-up time was at two-thirty, not three-fifteen, that the projects were due at the end of the month, that the formal uniforms were for wednesday and wednesday only. 

tsumiki was overly fond of her, satoru had nothing but good things to say about her, and megumi wasn’t a fan – but that was the norm, so you didn’t think much of it and kept it to yourself. 

your sneaking suspicion about her were ones that you kept to yourself. and one that you didn’t even have time to worry about anyways. 

“isn’t that what you do when you take someone to a dance? eat dinner together before?” megumi asks. 

“who is taking miss miwa to the dance?” you ask. 

“gojo, obviously.” tsumiki responds, shuffling away from the calendar to her seat on the dining table. 

you can feel the muscles in your shoulder tense, a terse stiffness in your neck as you ponder over the thought. 

megumi follows suit and you trail behind the two of them, keen to poke for more details. you note that tsumiki’s already made a mess of the food on her plate by swirling it around, as you take a seat in between them. 

“and why would gojo obviously be taking miss miwa to the dance?” you ask. 

“because he’s her work husband.” 

you narrow your eyes at her, gesturing for her to explain. 

“you’re his home wife. well, i know you guys aren’t actually married, but you’re his person here. and miss miwa is his work wife. she’s basically like what you are to him, but just at school.” 

you sigh, as you reach for the glass of orange juice and down it in one go. megumi spares you a weird glance, before miwa continues. 

“tsumiki.” megumi states, voice cautionary as he flits his eyes at you. 

she misses the hint entirely. 

“he eats breakfast with you, but lunch with her. and they’re planning the entire dance together so they spend a lot of time together. she even gets him coffee in the mornings.” 

so that’s why he stopped asking you to make it for him. 

it’s right at that moment that satoru shuffles into the kitchen, his tie hanging around his neck, as he scoots closer to you on the chair. it’s a chaste kiss that he presses to your cheek, before eating, and you can’t help but wonder. 

was he so despondent because he had already found your replacement? 

“you have to come by an hour early today. we’re having a meeting for the chaperones.” satoru states. 

you give him a quiet nod as he leans back and you loop the knot through his tie. he gives you a glimmering smile as you tap the top of his shoulders, signaling that you’re done. 

“save me a seat?” you ask. 

“always.” 

the thought doesn’t leave your mind the entire day. 

--

you arrive thirty minutes early, an overly sweet coffee in your hand as a gift for satoru, as you make your way over to his classroom. the hallways are quiet, sparsely decorated lockers, as you turn the corner and enter his classroom. 

only to find an absence of snow white hair and miwa excitedly scribbling on the board instead. 

you knock on the door twice, watching as miwa turns over with a sickly sweet smile, and strolls over to where you’re standing. 

“y/n. it’s so great to see you!” she states, wrapping her cold arms around you as she gives you an awkward embrace. 

you spare her a polite smile. 

“you too. how is tsumiki doing?” 

“she aced her spelling test. she ran all the way over here to show satoru her result and took a whole picture with us to celebrate.” 

satoru. you wondered when they had pranced into first name basis territory. if miwa ran over here with tsumiki each time, and how many pictures the three of them had taken together.  

“that’s sweet. thank you for helping her out, that means a lot.” you respond. 

“and thank you! you’re so sweet for helping with the dance. i know how busy you’ve been.” 

you pause. 

“what do you mean?” 

“satoru just mentioned to me a few times that you guys haven’t had any time to yourself because of how busy you are.” 

so he was talking about you to her too? 

“yeah. things have been hard to adjust to with the kids and all and i’ve been putting in more hours at work to pay for the karate and piano classes and all that. but he understands.” 

she slightly twitches her eye. you wonder if she does it on purpose. 

“oh, of course he does. you’re doing very important work.” 

you swallow hard. 

“you too.” you respond. 

“i mean, it’s just so rewarding. especially getting to be so close with students like tsumiki, after she lost her family so suddenly. i couldn’t imagine.” 

you sigh. 

“i mean. she lost her dad, but she still has a family.” 

“of course she does! you’re putting in a great effort –” 

it’s right at that moment that satoru walks in, eyes wide as he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. you can still feel the tenseness simmering under your skin, misplaced anger for him festering in your head, as you offer him the drink.. 

“for me? you shouldn’t have.” satoru responds, exaggerating by placing a hand over his chest. 

you shake your head as satoru wraps his arm around your shoulder, leading you to one of the desks right at the front. he shakes the coffee in front of you, as you deny the offer and lean forward on your chin. 

“miwa and i are leading the meeting so i can’t sit with you. but i told shoko and suguru to sit right next to you, which is basically the same thing.” 

you smile. 

“shoko looks just like you! i can barely tell the difference.” you deadpan. 

“don’t go kissing her now.” 

“i make zero promises.” 

satour gives you a glimmering grin. 

right at that second, there’s three consecutive knocks at the door, accompanied with a set of spiky black hair at the door slightly peeking into the room. 

“you can come in megumi.” satoru responds. 

megumi drops his backpack at the door, fast steps dragging him to where you and satoru are sitting. he taps impatiently on your thigh, gesturing for you to pick him up, as you secure him into your lap and rest your head on top of his. 

“always interrupting our alone time, aren’t you kid?” satoru jokes. 

“and why are you not in class?” you ask. 

“it’s passing period.” miwa answers. 

you turn your head to where she’s standing – chalking assignments onto the board – as megumi sneers, giving her a very steady glare. 

“why are you not in your class?” megumi asks. 

“i’m leading the meeting with mr. gojo for the dance.” 

“isn’t that meeting in twenty minutes? why are you here early?” 

you lightly nudge megumi in the side, taken aback by his tone, as you turn towards miwa and giving her a polite smile. 

“he doesn’t mind, he’s just not feeling well. please feel free to stay.” you respond. 

“i was planning to.” miwa responds. 

you ignore the strange response as you lightly tug at megumi’s ear, whispering in a hushed tone. 

“i do mind.” megumi mumbles. 

“well, you don’t tell people that. she isn’t doing anything, so just pretend like she’s not there.” 

you sigh, turning to satoru and frowning. you know he gets the message, as he leans forward and pinches at megumi’s cheek. 

“you’ve got to stop giving y/n so much stress, kid. she’s going to get an ulcer at this point.” satoru states. 

“i could say the same thing to you.” megumi responds, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

satoru looks up at you, a shadow of a smile on his face, as he crosses his arms over his chest and questions megumi. 

“oh yeah? and how am i stressing her out, huh?” 

“you have another wife.” megumi states. 

you pinch at megumi’s elbow. 

“another wife? i didn’t even realize that i had one to begin with.” satoru responds. 

you give satoru a smile. 

“tsumiki said that miss miwa is your work wife. and y/n doesn’t like that because she should be your only wife.” 

satoru’s eyes widen, as he dramatically places a hand over his chest, before dropping to his knees and looking up at you. 

“y/n, if you wanted me to marry you, you should have just said so. i’ll marry you right here, right now.” 

you snort, turning to megumi, as you whisper in his ear. 

“he’s completely crazy, right?” you ask. 

“absolutely. i think you should cut your losses. you could do way better.” 

satoru spares you a laugh, before reaching for megumi and tickling at his sides. 

“you should cut your losses, kid. i’m revoking dessert privileges for attempted coercion” 

megumi looks up at you, eyes expectant as he waits for corroboration. you shake your head, which earns you a playful smile from megumi, as he looks over at satoru and sticks his tongue out. 

“oh come on. we’re supposed to be a team.” satoru whines. 

“you haven’t pledged your allegiance. you and tsumiki ganged up on me the other night.” 

“well, we had a valid reason. we should definitely get ice cream after dinner.” satoru states. 

“not when it’s a school night and they have to wake up early next the day. you don’t want them to be late to class. again.” 

satoru sighs, before placing his hands on his hips. 

“speaking of class, you should be getting to yours. c’mon megs, i’ll walk you. say bye to y/n.” 

you crouch down on your knees, giving megumi a pinch on the cheek, as he glares at you. he sticks his hand out, the tow of you doing your complicated and convoluted handshake, before megumi and satoru stroll out of the classroom. 

“your relationship with megumi is very sweet.” miwa states. 

you had almost forgotten she was there. you turn your head to find that she’s seated at satoru’s desk, pulling up slides for the projector on the computer, as you awkwardly rub your sweaty palms together. 

“thank you. he’s just a little shy, that’s all. he didn’t mean to be rude earlier.” you state. 

miwa hums in response. 

“i hope you aren’t upset about the work wife thing. it was just a silly little inside joke that satoru, tsumiki, and i had come up with.” 

you narrow your eyes at her. 

“just because we spend so much time together. lunch, the development workshops, and emailing in between classes. we’re like attached at the hip so we just joked that we were married. but no foul play, of course.” 

you sigh. then why did she feel the need to bring it up to you? 

“of course.” you respond. 

“i’m so glad that we could clear this up. i would hate to think you’re upset with me.” 

you give her a nod, turning your head to the door as shoko and suguru trickle in, wide smiles on their faces as they turn to greet you. 

it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

--

three days later, you’re thirty minutes late to the meeting for the school dance. leaving the hospital late because the next nurse wasn’t there to get her report on time, getting stopped by every stoplight on the way to school, and circling three times for parking. 

you sneak into the gymnasium, quietly making your way to the tables in the corner where suguru and shoko are seated, only to be stopped by a shrill voice in the air. 

“y/n?” 

you turn on your heel, giving miwa a clenched smile, as you feel your heart sink into your stomach. 

did she need to look so perfect all the time? 

“i thought that was you.” 

“right, i apologize for being late. i was caught up with –” 

“we were wondering where you were. they’ve been making such slow progress on the little take home favors that i was considering pulling satoru from doing the streamers with me because of it.” 

the first name. again. 

“right, it’s just that i was –” 

“i do hope you can come on time to actually chaperone for the dance. that would be a disaster since we need to have a certain adult to child ratio to be in line with the district. you will come on time, right?” 

“yes, i took –” 

“good. i know that your job is important, but ours is too, you know? granted, you leave satoru’s kids here every day, and spending all day with them is just as demanding as working at a hospital.” 

you sigh. 

“satoru’s kids?” you ask. 

she gives you a smile. 

“what?” 

“you said satoru’s kids.” you clarify. 

“and?” 

you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling burning hot tears in your eyes, as you look up at her. 

“they’re my kids too.” 

“right, of course they are. you know i didn’t mean that.” 

you sigh. 

“honest mistake.” 

you feel two hands on your shoulder, accompanied by a squeeze and the distinct smell of satoru’s cologne in your ears. 

“hi sweetheart. you smell like bleach.” 

“oh my god. i thought that was just me.” miwa responds, accompanied with a laugh. 

you bite down on your cheeks. 

“i was sanitizing the gurney. because our patient bled all over it.” 

“don’t bring up blood. miwa here is going to start vomiting.” satoru jokes. 

miwa leans forward, lightly shoving in his side, as he shoves right back. 

“oh shut up. you feel the same way whenever i eat my fried rice.” 

“the smell of soy sauce makes my stomach hurt.” 

“god, you’re so weird, toru.” miwa responds. 

you clear your throat, as the two of them look over at you with expectant eyes. satoru eyes hold no weight of suspicion or guilt in them – really nothing at all – and it makes your stomach hurt. 

“i’ll be back. i just have to use the bathroom.” 

“don’t get lost!” miwa responds, as you trudge your way down the hallway, dragging your feet against the floor. 

you can feel the frustration building up in your chest.

the annoying part? you do end up getting lost. 

you sit on the bench outside one of the classrooms, hiking your knees to your chest, as you press your forehead against your legs. it’s not long before you feel three taps on top of your head, only to look up and find suguru standing in front of you. 

“miwa sent out a search party for you. she thought you might have gotten lost.” 

you sigh. 

“she works fast, doesn’t she?” 

suguru snorts as he takes the seat next to you, digging into his pocket and digging out a lollipop. he holds it out to you, giving you an encouraging smile as you snatch it from his hand, and unrawp it. 

“i thought you were going to offer me a cigarette.” 

“i’m saving those for the night of the dance. i only use those when necessary.” 

you laugh. 

“save half of them for me. i’ll need those every time miwa decides to come over and talk to me.” 

you lean back, sticking your head against the ridge of the window pane, as you immediately regret what you just said. 

“sorry. i don’t mean to talk bad about her, i know she is your coworker and all but –” 

“but she’s just so fucking annoying?” 

you pause, leaning forward as you lower your voice. 

“it’s not just me?” you whisper. 

“you’re in a very large majority, y/n. she’s just…too much for some people.” 

you frown. 

“not for satoru. i don’t know if you heard, but she’s his work wife.” 

suguru winces. 

“you heard about that?” 

“i’m slightly offended that you did and didn’t tell me right away.” 

“didn’t seem like a good time. satoru was mentioning that you guys were kind of going through a rough patch.” 

you pause. 

“a rough patch?” 

“are you not?” 

“i mean, we haven’t spent time alone together, since we’re still getting used to the whole kids thing. i didn’t realize that he was telling you and miwa it was a rough patch. or that he was telling you and miwa anything.” 

suguru leans back, placing a hand on your shoulder, as you pause – pondering over the thoughts, of every little detail that you had noticed. the nicknames, the lunches, the emails – maybe they were more serious than you had originally believed. 

it eats at you when you and surugu eventually drag your legs back to the gymnasium. and as you make the little party favors, it’s the only thing that you can focus on. 

that satoru holds onto her ankle to steady her when she stands on the ladder, that they have a secret handshake, that in the time that he didn’t spend with you, she was the one that was filling the space.  

--

“we’re out of toilet paper. and dish soap. and if you’re going anyways, you should probably get laundry detergent.” satoru states. 

he shuffles into the bathroom quietly, yanking his shirt over his head as he gestures for you to scoot over, reaching for his toothbrush in the cup. 

“megumi also said that we shouldn’t eat spaghetti again. he’s starting to get really picky with what he eats.” 

you sigh. 

“i’ll get more chicken nuggets when i go then.” you respond. 

satoru turns his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you, as he sticks the toothbrush into the side of his teeth. 

“are you good?” 

“hm?” 

“are you okay?” 

you shake your head, reaching forward to spit the leftover toothpaste in your mouth, as you reach for the mouthwash. 

“yeah, yeah.” 

“miwa said that you looked really exhausted when you left. said she was worried about you.” satoru responds. 

“i’m sure that she is.” you respond, noting that you can’t control the bitterness in your voice. 

“hm?” 

you sigh, slamming the cup down on the granite countertop, as you turn to him. 

“do you always talk about me with your female coworkers? or is it just her?” 

“what?” 

you turn to glare at him. 

“do you always discuss the grievances you have about me with miwa? about how i don’t have time for you, about how we’re going through a rough patch, and everything in between?” 

satoru looks confused. you swear there’s a sense of irritation in his demeanor which wasn’t unexpected. he was defensive to his core. 

“no. i don’t. but she’s just a friend. i just mentioned it to her here and there because she asked.” 

“and why does she feel the need to ask about your relationship with me? that’s not normal. especially when she clearly likes you so much.” 

satoru glares right back. 

“are you insane? she doesn’t like me.”

“oh so now i’m insane. yeah, it’s totally normal for her to walk around pretending like the two of you are married and telling me that my kids aren’t actually mine and they’re just yours.” 

satoru scoffs. 

“oh come on. there’s no way that she said that.” 

you scoff. 

“so you believe her over me?” 

“she wouldn't say that.” 

“and you think i’m making it up? why the hell would i do that?” 

satoru slams the toothbrush down on the counter, before leaning forward and sneering at you. 

“because you want to blame me for what’s happening with us when it’s really you.” 

you feel your heart drop in your chest. 

“it’s me?” 

“you work too much. you…every time you come home, you don’t even look at me. it’s all about how megumi’s being too picky with what he eats and tsumiki is getting too attached to her friends. those aren’t problems, and even if they are, you’re the one making them worse.” 

you can feel your chest aching from the inside out. 

“you were the one who told tsumiki that the hurt would go away if she was with her friends. she obviously is so obsessed with being around them all the time because she thinks that it’ll go away if she’s with them all the time. because you told her that. and megumi’s so spoiled and picky because you’re the one who tolerates every little thing he says. just because he asked you to sleep in his bed, it doesn’t mean you have to do it every time. you have to let him do some things on his own.” 

you glare. 

“and what about you, huh?” 

“what about me?” 

“since i clearly do everything so wrong, i must have been the one who pushed you right into her, didn’t i?” 

satoru pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“you know what, maybe you did.” 

you look down at your hands, reaching down at the little scab on your finger as you angrily scratch at it, ignoring the bright red that starts leaking out of your finger. you look down at the ground, at your mismatched socks, as you barely choke the words out. 

“maybe i should just leave then.” 

satoru’s face drops. 

“what?” 

if satoru was defensive, you were proud. 

“i’ll do you a favor and leave. tsumiki won’t get horrible advice, megumi won’t get coddled, and you…you won’t be disappointed because i won’t be here to do it.” 

satoru immediately melts, reaching forward for your wrist, the grasp hard on your arm. 

“peach. don’t be like that. you know i -”  

“know you don’t mean it? because i had a sneaking suspicion that you…that you had been thinking that for weeks.” you whisper, noting the crack in your voice. 

you ball your hand into a fist, jerking your hand out of his grasp. 

“i don’t know what to say to tsumiki because…because i’ve never done this before. i don’t work with kids like you do and i just said what i was thought was best. it breaks my heart to say no to megumi because i’m scared he won’t even try to sleep if i don’t sit there with him. i know it scares him because toji was asleep when he died and…and sometimes i think he’s scared he’ll wake up and we’ll be gone too. and….and i don’t mean to neglect you but this entire thing is exhausting. i thought you were the one thing that would stay because i could trust you.” 

“hey. of course you can trust me.” 

“i’ve had enough, satoru. there’s…there’s nothing you can say to take back what you just said. you…you’re talking about another girl.” 

satoru leans forward, placing both hands around your face, and squeezing hard. you note the slight glisten in his eyes. 

“don’t say that.” he whispers. 

“i’m going to leave.” you murmur. 

all you want is him. 

“and go where? we….we’re all here.” 

“i’ll stay with shoko. just for a few days before we figure something out.” 

“you…you can’t be serious, right?” 

you’re not. 

“i’ll still come to the dance since i promised you that. i’ll see you then, okay?” you state. 

you’re not sure what makes your heart sink more. the fact that he said what he did or that he let you leave without chasing after you. 

--

satoru notes that it’s a day and a half of chaos without you. and that he really hates it when you’re not around. 

he doesn’t know how to iron tsumiki’s dress for the dance or do her hair. megumi won’t eat the pasta he made because it’s not the way that he likes it and he’s almost positive that you were right – that he really wouldn’t sleep through the night just because you weren’t there.  

that without noticing it, you felt like the glue that kept everyone together. that tsumiki and megumi didn’t stress him out, only because you seemed to take care of that for him – used to fix everything perfectly, like a soothing bandaid on every issue that they had. that sleeping next to you used to seep the stress out of his joints, the sweet smell of your shampoo lulling him to sleep. 

that he needed you around because he was scared to be without you. 

“shoko.” 

“yeah?” 

“can you do me a favor?” 

satoru sighs, as he turns over to her. 

“i did tsumiki’s hair all shitty because i didn’t know how to do it. can you go fix it because i can tell she’s lying when she says she likes it?” 

“why didn’t y/n do it?” suguru asks. 

satoru pinches his lips together. you were upset that he was sharing your relationship details with other people. which is why he was determined to not do it again. 

“she’s coming in from work.” 

“god. when does she sleep?” suguru murmurs, as she walks across the room and gestures for tsumiki to come over to her. 

satoru can’t help but feel miserable. only because he didn’t know the answer to the question. and that he was the only one that was so painfully blind to how tired you were. 

“did you and y/n fight it out then?” he asks. 

“what? no.” 

suguru’s eyes widen. 

“she’s got balls of steel. i can’t believe one person can have that much patience.” 

“what are you talking about?” 

“the stuff that miwa said to her. i figured she’d ask you to stop talking to her or scale back a little.” 

satoru looks over, hands hard on his shoulders, suddenly too interested with the conversation. 

“what did she tell you?” 

“i mean…i don’t know. she said you and miwa were talking about how she smells like bleach? and the whole work wife thing, that megumi and tsumiki aren’t her kids.” 

satoru can hear the blood rushing through his ears. 

“what?” 

“yeah. she didn’t mention it? she was pretty upset about it the day we all came here to set up, especially since work can be so demanding and all that.” 

“she said that megumi and tsumiki aren’t her kids?” 

“yeah. seemed pretty hurt by it. think it was the second time too.” 

satoru stands eagerly by the table, switching the clipboards in their spots two, three, four times as he waits for the last thirty minutes to run out. until you had to show up, because you promised that he would. 

and surely enough, five minutes before it hits the time, he hears a shrill voice from the stage, followed by the sound of thundering footsteps. 

“y/n!” 

satoru looks to his left, watching as megumi and tsumiki both excitedly run into your open arms, limbs wrapped around your legs as you reach down and soothe through both of their hair. he can’t help but trail up to where the three of you are standing, chest aching wholeheartedly, as he watches. 

“did you miss me?” you ask. 

“so much. gojo put butter in the pasta. and he spilled all the detergent softener in the laundry room so the smell gives us a headache.” 

he notes that you frown at the mention of his name. 

“and he did my hair all weird. shoko was trying to fix it, but i couldn’t find the clips that we were going to use to match the dress.” 

“don’t worry. i swung by the house and grabbed them, they were in my drawer.” 

“where did you go?” megumi asks. 

you smile. 

“sorry for leaving so abruptly, kiddo. i was having a sleepover.” 

“adults have sleepovers?” 

“no. but i’m just cool like that.” you murmur. 

the two of them grin, laughing at your joke, as you reach forward and put your hands around their wrists. 

“satoru’s trying. don’t be so mad at him. it’s not his fault that he has the cooking intuition of a newborn baby. and he can barely do his own hair, it was kind of silly of you to expect that he could do yours.” 

satoru can’t help but laugh. but it’s the sound of his voice, he assumes, that draws your attention away, as you finally look to your left and look up at him. he can’t help but give you a halfhearted smile, one that you nod at, as you stand up. 

“i’m going to give satoru a stern talking to about butter and hairspray. i’ll come fix your hair after, okay?” 

“give him hell.” megumi responds. 

you watch as the two of them run off, before turning over to satoru and giving him a smile. it’s almost like he reaches forward to touch you, before he thinks twice and drops his hand. you look down, twisting the silver bracelet – the one that he gave you – on your wrist, as you take a deep breath. 

“you still don’t know how to do your tie.” you note. 

satoru laughs, looking down at the loose knot hanging around his neck. he can’t help but delight in the fact that you reach forward, loosening the mess he made as you properly tie it for him – the way you did every morning. 

“never learned how to do it so you’d always do it for me.” 

you stifle a laugh. 

“satoru.” 

“i can’t do anything without you, you know?” 

it feels like he’s talking about more than just the tie. 

he must sense the hesitation, because he changes the topic just as fast. 

“i love the dress. you look beautiful.” 

“thank you. i bought it for our…” 

“third anniversary. i remember.” 

you smile. 

“i remember what we did after more, but…” satoru whispers. 

you reach forward and shove him. 

“we’re at a school.” 

satoru smiles. and for a split second, it feels like nothing had happened at all. 

“too much butter makes megumi’s stomach hurt. and you really should have asked me to come do her hair.” you state. 

“would you come if i asked?” 

you swallow hard. 

“hm?” 

“would you come back if i asked you to?” he asks. 

“would you even ask?” you respond. 

satoru pauses. 

“what?” 

“when i left, i…i thought that you’d chase after me. i…i wanted you to chase after me. but i understand that now things are kind of fraught between us and that you might –” 

satoru feels the regret seep through him immediately

“i was trying to give you your space.” satoru states, interrupting. 

“hm?” 

“i thought that i’d push you farther away. of course i’d chase after you.” 

“it’s so nice to see you, y/n. did you sign in?” 

you turn to your left to find miwa standing there, hair perfectly secured around her face with glittering earrings hanging from her ears. you wonder if the shade of blue her dress was intentional, if it was meant to match her eyes so perfectly, as you smile at her. 

satoru notes the horrible timing. and that he hates her dress. 

“hi miwa. you look beautiful.” 

“so do you. did you sign in and start marking the wristbands when you came in?” miwa repeats, tone insistent. 

“she was talking to me.” satoru responds, tone harsh as he responds. 

“hm?” miwa asks, tilting her head to the side in confusion as she looks up at him. 

“my girlfriend just got here. she was obviously talking to me.” satoru responds again, tone unflinching. 

you note that her eye twitches the slightest as she steps back. 

“of course. just get to it when you can, since you know, people will be here soon.” 

“i’m going over there right now actually. i’ll leave you guys to it.” 

“hey, wait. i’ll catch up with you after, miwa.” satoru responds, his hand extended as he gestures for you to wait. 

you watch as miwa shuffles away, slithering to the other side of the room, and there’s a burning, aching desire in your chest. 

to tell satoru that she wore that dress to match his eyes, for the two of you to laugh at how crazy she was. you wondered if he would even find it funny. 

“yes?” 

satoru looks down, reaching for the bag underneath the table, as he lifts it up. 

“i brought my windbreaker for you. it’s supposed to rain tonight.” satoru states. 

you smile. 

“i kind of tore apart your entire closet looking for it. and if i remember correctly, you did indeed say that it was mine now since i wore it more than you.” you admit. 

satoru smiles right back. 

“i also got you a corsage, peach. since you’re my date and all.” 

satoru pulls out a little plastic box, as you note the little white flowers encased in the baby blue ribbon. you can feel your chest aching, a burning sensation, as you reach in your own bag, pulling out the matching corsage that you had ordered a week prior. 

“you had to have cheated. did you look in my email?” you ask. 

satoru shakes his head. 

“i know you like orchids. and you’re so on the nose that you’d get one to match my eyes.” 

you shove him in the side. 

“you love that corny type of thing.” 

satoru smiles, before looking over at miwa and then back at you. 

“only when you do it.” 

you smile as you both exchange the boxes, fixing the flowers on each other, before quietly walking away from each other. 

--

you sneak away from the dance without satoru noticing. you catch the perfect moment, when satoru and miwa are stuck in an animated conversation near the dance floor, and slip through the door at the front. 

you clearly don’t go too unnoticed, because the following day, you wake up to a plethora of texts from suguru and shoko. 

[shoko]: Left for work already, but Satoru yelled at Miwa last night after you left.  

[suguru]: IT WAS BAD 

[shoko]: Did he really say that Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t your kids? That’s horrible. 

[suguru]: HE WAS LIKE YELLING OUTSIDE. GOING ON ABOUT HOW YOU’RE HIS GIRLFRIEND, HOW SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT, ABOUT HOW HE WANTED NOTHING TO DO WITH HER 

[shoko]: Oh, by the way. He’s like still on the porch. Sat through the rain last night and everything waiting for you. Think he was pounding on the window at some point and screaming but the rain was pretty loud. 

[shoko]: Said something pathetic like he loved you or something. 

[shoko]: Anyways, I left them out there for you to deal with.

that’s the next that gets your attention. you quietly pad to the door, swinging it open to find him sitting on the ground, half asleep against his knees with the corsage crumpled in his hand. you reach down, shaking at his shoulder to lightly nudge him awake. 

“satoru. don’t tell me you sat out here in the rain.” you whisper. 

he blinks a few times, the sleep still heavily lidded in his eyes, as he reaches forward, a cold hand against your warm cheek. 

“chasing after you. not going home without you.” he mumbles. 

you sigh. 

“maybe come inside first, romeo. you’re going to catch a cold.” 

you reach for his hands, lightly pulling up, and dragging him inside as he takes a seat on one of shoko’s chairs. you crank the heater up, putting a cup of milk on the stove for hot chocolate, before shuffling back over to him – noting that he’s slightly more awake now. 

“i was knocking. and i’m pretty sure i was banging on the window at point, but i guess you didn’t hear me.” 

“the rain was loud, satoru. i would have let you in if i had known.” 

“gave you a whole spiel. it was really good too, about you know…us.” 

you smile. 

“us?” you question. 

he doesn’t laugh. 

“yeah. us. about how much i need you. how much i love you.” satoru responds. 

you note that there’s a rasp in his voice. 

“you’re getting sick, satoru.” 

“i know you don’t want me to leave. i know you want to come back.” 

you sigh. were you that obvious?

“did you yell at miwa?” 

“did she really say they weren’t your kids?” 

“maybe.” 

it’s enough to set satoru off because he’s pushing off the chair, cold hands and wet clothing pressed to your face as he envelopes you in his embrace. you can still smell the faint whisper of his cologne, the smell so sweet it makes your stomach hurt, as he clenches harder. 

“sweetheart, why wouldn’t you tell me that? i’d fucking yell at her then and there.” satoru whispers. 

you frown. 

“she’s your work wife. tsumiki like…loves her. i can’t just talk bad about her.” 

“yes. you can. you could talk shit about my dead grandmother if she pissed you off. you could tell me anything if it was upsetting you.” 

you frown. 

“and you could have told me instead of everyone you knew that we were going through a rough patch. i know that you mentioned that you were upset we didn’t have time together, but…but i didn’t realize that i was letting you down so much.” 

satoru reaches forward, titling your head up to face him. 

“you didn’t let me down. i was being….” 

“you’re just saying that because i left. if i was still there fighting with you…you…you’d have even more to say to me. about how how i worry too much, about how i don’t love you enough, about…” 

“y/n.” satoru whispers, almost whining.  

you push away from him. 

“i made you hot chocolate. i think you’re getting sick and that you should go home and rest. also shoko would hate to see you bringing your wet mess in here.” 

you push out of his embrace, tasking yourself with pouring the hot chocolate into one of her tumblers, before placing it in front of him. he ignores it entirely, reaching forward to make himself level with you. 

“you know i’ll be waiting for you. i’ll be right on the other side of the door waiting to open it if you want to come back.” 

“okay.” 

“yeah? don’t…don’t hesitate to come back home, please. it’s not home without you.” 

you give him a nod, lifting the tumbler and placing it in his hand and gesturing for the door. 

--

satoru hears three consecutive knocks not even an hour after. he all but tumbles down the stairs, nearly slipping as he reaches for the knob, to find exactly what it is that we wanted to see. 

the jacket pulled over your head, bright red eyes staring at him, and warm tears pouring out of your eyes. 

you. 

“satoru?” you mumble. 

he can feel his heart drop at the tears and the crack in your voice. 

“yes, peach?” 

you note how soft his tone is. 

“are you sick?” you ask. 

satoru smiles. 

“had a fever last i checked.” satoru responds. 

he’s not sure what it is, but it sends the tears down your eyes faster, as you all but reach forward and burrow your face into his chest. satoru returns the favor, reaching down to rest his chin on the top of your head as he rubs circles into your back. 

“it’s not cancer. i’m sure i’ll live.” 

he pauses. 

“sweet girl. what’s got you so upset?” 

satoru notes that you make no inclination of responding, as he pulls back and gestures for you to wrap your arms around his neck. he scoops his free arm around your legs, steadily carrying you up the stairs as you heave in the sweet smell of his shampoo, warm tears still landing on his more pale than usual skin. 

“are you really sick?” you ask. 

satoru spares you a quiet laugh as he sets you down on the bed, peeling the jacket from your arms before digging through the fresh laundry for your pajamas. 

“maybe take a shower first. you’ll feel better.” 

you frown as you push off the bed, your cold hands on his burning hot arms as you look up at him. this couldn’t wait. 

“i lied earlier. there’s a lot you could do to make things right.” you whisper. 

satoru smiles. 

“i know. i fully intend to do all those things too.” 

you sigh. 

“i want to stay in the rough patch. and…and even be here with you if we fight everyday. and you're sick and it breaks my hear tthat no one is here to take care of you.” 

“i have no intention of fighting with you when you’re right.” satoru responds. 

“you can’t just…” 

satoru pauses, holding his hand up. 

“i shouldn’t talk to my co-workers about you. and you…you’re right. i do think that she likes me and that’s why she’s felt the need to be so rude to you all the time. i’m sorry if it ever felt like i was siding with her, but you have to know, the only thing i really want is you.” 

satoru sighs. 

“tsumiki follows your advice so keenly because you’re so put together. she can’t really come to me with that stuff because you’re the one she looks up to. and megumi really doesn’t sleep when you’re not around, but of course, you’re the one who knows him better, who knows all of us better, to think ahead like that. and i love that you’re put together for them, but you don’t have to be for me. i want to know everything that bothers you because you…you’re my responsibility.” 

“well, i –” 

you pause. 

“i don’t want to upset you again.” 

“well, run away all you want. i’ll follow you anywhere you go. i had every intention to come wait outside of shoko’s apartment again at seven. every intention to do it every day until you came back."  

“i wouldn’t make you do that.” you respond. 

you swallow hard, before reaching for both of his hands, and lifting them to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

"if you don't want to upset me, don't leave again. i'll do it, but i don't want to wait outside of shoko's door for you."

“i’m proud, but not proud enough to make you wait like that. i followed you five minutes after you drove away.” 

satoru smiles. 

“i left because….because i wanted you to chase after me, just so i knew that you still wanted me. it’s immature but…” 

“no. it’s not.”  

“i just…i don’t know how to explain what i was thinking but i…” 

satoru leans forward, hands knotted behind your waist as he pulls you closer, searing warm lips pressed against yours as you lean against him. you can still taste the remnant of the chocolate on his lips, noting the cut on the right side of his lip. 

maybe you don’t have to explain at all. 

“have you been biting your lips?” you whisper, forehead flush against his as you brush your nose against his. 

“was nervous you wouldn’t come back.” he murmurs. 

you lean forward again, placing your hands on his burning hot face, as you feel the wetness spreading on his cheek. you lean back, wiping it away just as fast, before the door creaks open. 

tsumiki and megumi are standing at the door, bright smiles on their faces, as they run up and tangle themselves between your legs. you lean against satoru, running your hand through megumi’s hair as you look up at them. 

“is your sleepover over? we’re starving here without you.” 

you stifle a laugh. 

“yes. it is.” 

you and satoru crouch down, his hand steady across your waist as you pinch at both of their cheeks. satoru leans to the left to press a kiss to your cheek, an action both tsumki and megumi copy, as you lightly pull them off. 

“we missed you.” tsumiki responds. 

“i missed you more.” 

“are you happy after your sleepover? are we normal now?” megumi asks. 

always the perceptive one. 

you look over at satoru, granting him a gleaming smile. 

“yes. i am.” 

“oh thank god. satoru was getting sad too.” tsumiki responds. 

you turn over to him and grin.

“take notes, kids. happy wife, happy life.” 

--

an: ignored the voices and decided to post something! please me nice I was like fighting demons. anyways.

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

KID

Summary : You discover that you're pregnant while on a mission on a completely different planet in another galaxy, and the father is your captain, Han Yun Jae.

Pairing: Captain!Han Yun Jae x reader

Warnings : suggestive, age gap, pregnancy, enemies to lovers

You placed the blood sample into the self-analysis machine and pressed the button to start the process. Your eyes darted around the room as you anxiously checked for any signs of someone approaching while the machine worked. 

It’s been about three months since you left Earth, bound for another planet to explore, test, and determine if it could sustain human life. Every two years, teams like yours are sent on eight-month missions to scout new worlds. The organization dispatches countless teams across the galaxy to increase humanity’s chances of finding a suitable home. 

The machine beeped, signaling that the results were ready. It started printing, the faint sound of ink being laid on the paper filling the room. Nervously, you bit your thumbnail, your eyes flickering around as you waited. The moment it finished, you snatched the sheet, your hands trembling as you scanned the results frantically. 

beta-hCG hormone: 11,233 mIU/mL. 

Fuck. 

You see, the beta-hCG hormone determines if a woman is pregnant. Levels below 5 mIU/mL indicate no pregnancy, but anything above that confirms it. Beta-hCG levels double every 48 to 72 hours, which also helps estimate how far along the pregnancy is. 

You are roughly three months pregnant. 

How had you missed the signs for three whole months? you kept blaming the vomiting, mood swings, headaches, missed periods, and cravings on the stress of being in space. It all seemed so obvious now. 

You pulled out your vitals smartwatch to update your status, indicating your pregnancy so it wouldn’t send you period reminders. As you filled out the prompts, answering the usual medical questions, you froze at the final one. 

What date do you think you became pregnant? 

The words stared back at you, and you stopped breathing. Slowly, you navigated to the calendar and selected the date—the night you made a huge mistake. The night you slept with your captain, Han Yun Jae. The man you couldn’t stand. And who couldn’t stand you. 

It happened the night before the mission began. The team had decided to drink together in his office as a farewell to Earth. you had a few drinks, and soon enough, you was blurting out stupid things. 

Everyone else had already left. you was the only one still there, struggling to stay upright. you tried to push yourself to your feet but ended up leaning heavily against the wall for support as you made your way to the door. Yun Jae, meanwhile, was tidying up, collecting the empty bottles when he turned and noticed you crash to the floor. 

He laughed. 

Groaning against the cold, hard surface, you muttered, “Ajhussi, it’s not funny. Why are you laughing?” you tried to push yourself up but barely managed to lift your upper half. 

“I give up,” you mumbled, flopping onto your back. “I’m sleeping here.” Covering your eyes with your arm to block the soft ceiling light, you got ready to pass out on the floor. 

“No, you’re not,” Yun Jae said, clearly unimpressed as he continued cleaning his desk. 

“Pretty sure I am,” you retorted, your words slurring. “Could you pass me a blanket? That would be so sweet of you—for once.” 

You heard his footsteps approach and felt his shadow fall over you. 

“Y/N, get up,” he ordered, his tone exasperated. 

“You had a chance to be sweet, and you blew it,” you said, stubbornly refusing to move. 

He crouched down beside you. “Y/N, get up,” he repeated, but you ignored him, lying there defiantly. 

“Maybe that’s why you’re still single at fifty,” you muttered, shooting him a smug grin. 

“I’m thirty-nine,” he snapped. 

“Same thing. You’re old,” you teased, earning a heavy sigh of frustration from him. 

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice taking on an edge of irritation. 

You finally lifted your arm from your eyes and glanced at him with a smirk. “Ajhussi~,” you sang in a playful, whining tone. 

“Last warning,” he growled. 

“You sound like my dad,” you said with a laugh, enjoying his growing frustration. 

“Maybe that’s because you’re acting like a child,” he shot back sharply. 

The smile fell from your face, replaced by a frown. “Stop calling me a kid,” you said firmly, your brows furrowing. “I’m almost thirty. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

“Then get up,” he challenged. 

You stubbornly turned your head away from him. “I can’t,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with something almost pitiful. 

For a moment, there was silence. Then, without warning, you felt his arm slide beneath your knees and another under your back. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he lifted you effortlessly off the floor. 

“Taking you to your room,” he replied gruffly. 

You didn’t argue. you let him carry you down the hallway, though he nearly dropped you a couple of times—he was drunk too. When you reached your room, he set you down so you could unlock the door. you fumbled for your keys, but your vision blurred. Bending down to meet the lock’s height, you tried again, only for the key to fall from your shaking hand. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, straightening up too quickly. The dizziness hit you like a wave, and you swayed, trying to regain your balance. 

Yun Jae sighed, picked up the keys, and opened the door himself. He tossed the keys onto the counter inside, then stood there, holding the door open with an irritated expression. He was clearly eager to get this over with and go to bed. 

“Thank you very much, ajhussi,” you said sarcastically, bowing in mock gratitude. 

As you bent forward, you nearly lost your balance again, pitching toward the floor. Yun Jae caught you at the last second, groaning in frustration. 

“What a dumb woman,” he muttered, hauling you upright by my forearm and steadying you with a hand on you waist. 

He guided you toward the bed, but just as he was about to set you down, you tripped over an empty sample container. Instinctively, you grabbed onto him for support—and dragged him down with you. 

He falls on top of you. 

He's heavy, but not unbearable. His face is only inches away from mine, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. For a moment, neither of you moves. It’s like time itself has frozen, holding you in this strange, uncomfortable limbo. 

“Y/N,” he mutters, his voice low and strained, though whether it’s from anger or something else, you can’t tell. 

“What?” you whispered back, my voice barely audible. 

His eyes lock onto mine, sharp and focused despite the haze of alcohol clouding both your senses. you can’t bring yourself to look away, even though your heart is racing, pounding so hard that you are sure he can hear it. 

“You… are such a pain in the ass,” he says, his tone half-annoyed, half-something-else. 

“And you’re—” My retort dies in my throat as his gaze drops to my lips. 

The air between you shifts, suddenly thick with tension. My breathing quickens as you realize he hasn’t moved away yet. Instead, he’s still hovering over you, his weight pressing you slightly into the bed. 

“You should get off you,” you manage to say, though my voice lacks conviction. 

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting some internal battle. “You’re right,” he finally says, but he doesn’t move. His voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “I should.” 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, his hand, still gripping your arm for balance, softens its hold. His thumb brushes against your skin, sending a jolt through your entire body. you hate the way your stomach flips at the contact, hate the way your heart seems to betray you by beating even faster. 

“Yun Jae,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you intend. 

And then, before you can say anything else, his lips crash into mine. 

It’s not soft or tentative; it’s desperate, rough, and filled with the kind of frustration that’s been building between you for months. you freeze for a second, your brain scrambling to catch up with what’s happening. But then, without thinking, you kiss him back. 

The alcohol has dulled your inhibitions, but it’s not just that. There’s something raw and undeniable about this moment, about him. All the bickering, all the glares and sharp words, it all feels like it’s been leading to this. 

His hand moves to your waist, gripping tightly as if to ground himself. you find yourself pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his shirt as the kiss deepens. For once, we’re not fighting—at least, not with words. 

The night blurs after that. The tension, the anger, the alcohol—it all swirls together, igniting something we’ve both been too stubborn to acknowledge. 

You stare at the screen in front of you, your vitals smartwatch blinking its persistent question: 

What date do you think you became pregnant? 

Your fingers hover over the calendar, hesitating as the memories rush back. That night, so long ago but still so vivid. The way his lips pressed against mine, the heat of his hands against your skin, the way you gave in to something you both swore you hated. 

You press the date, and the screen logs it with an impersonal beep. The action feels like a release, but it only brings more questions, more weight. 

Do you wish to notify the captain? 

You let out a hollow laugh, though there's nothing remotely funny about it. Notify the captain. As if that wouldn’t open a floodgate of complications. How could you possibly tell him that one moment of weakness has brought you to this point? 

My hand hovers over the screen, your mind racing with indecision. But before you can decide, the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. My heart lurches, and you quickly shove the device into your pocket, forcing a calm expression as the door slides open. 

There he is—Han Yun Jae. Cold, unapproachable, and as sharp as ever. His eyes meet mine, and you wonder, just for a fleeting moment, if he can see it in your face, if he can tell what’s between us. 

"Y/N," he says curtly. "We’re heading out for another exploration." 

You nod, trying to suppress the flutter in your chest. "Of course." 

He steps closer, his presence dominating the room. The tension from that night still hangs thick in the air, unspoken, unresolved. And though he doesn’t know it yet, you can’t shake the fear that everything is about to change. 

“We need to leave soon,” he continues, his tone impassive, his eyes scanning the equipment scattered around the room. you envy his ability to keep his composure, his ability to seem unaffected. You feel like you are on the edge of breaking, but you can’t let him see it. Not now. 

"Right," you say, trying to steady my voice. "I’ll be ready in a minute." 

You grab your gear, moving quickly, gathering the essentials for today’s exploration. We’re on a breathable planet, so you don’t need much—just the basics: a scanner, sample containers, a few tools for analysis. It should be a straightforward mission. But everything feels off today. 

As you adjust your pack, you feel the familiar nausea begin to churn in your stomach again. It’s not as intense as it could be, but it’s enough to make your head spin. A wave of dizziness threatens to knock you off balance, but you keep moving. you can’t afford to look weak. 

We head out to begin the survey of the planet. The bright sun glints off the barren landscape, but you can barely focus on the view. Yun Jae leads the way, as always, with his confident stride and cold, calculating gaze. 

You follow, but every step feels heavier today. My thoughts keep drifting back to the life growing inside you, the life that you still haven’t told him about. you won’t—not like this. Not when the tension between you is still so thick, so unresolved. 

The exploration continues, though it’s more difficult than usual. You are exhausted—physically, mentally. My body feels like it’s betraying you. you keep trying to hide it, but the pallor of your skin, the way your movements seem slower, doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Y/N, you’re okay?” Ha-neul, one of the engineers, asks as she glances at you. 

You offer another tight smile, masking the fatigue and nausea swirling inside you. “I’m fine.” 

But Ha-neul doesn’t buy it. She knows you too well. 

We continue, and as you near the edge of a cliff to take a sample from a distant ridge, Yun Jae pauses and turns to you, his eyes glinting with that familiar authoritative gleam. 

“We need to get a sample from that ridge,” he says, pointing to the jagged rocky formation. 

“Yeah, on it,” you reply, starting to walk toward it. But before you take more than a few steps, you catch him watching me—his gaze lingering on my face, his expression tight with what looks like worry. 

He holds up a hand, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait. You stay here and keep an eye on the equipment.” 

You clench your teeth, holding back the sharp retort that rises to your lips. “Why do you always assume you can’t handle it?” 

He doesn’t look at you but responds in that cold, condescending tone that always sends a rush of heat to your face. 

“Because you still act like a kid who doesn’t know how to do anything. You get distracted, and you can’t afford to babysit you.” that was just an excuse covering the fact that he was worry at you state just by one look at your face but you didn’t need to know that. 

My heart lurches, and before you can stop myself, the words spill out. 

“I’m not a kid!” you snapped, my voice sharper and louder than you intended. The words hung in the air, heavy with frustration and unspoken meaning. “I’m twenty-eight, for God’s sake! Stop treating me like some helpless child.” 

You turned to face him fully, your glare unwavering as you continued. “you get that being ancient must make you think everyone younger than you need to be babysat, but guess what? you don’t. I’m capable, and I’ve been handling things on your own for a long time now.” 

You noticed the silence that followed your outburst, the kind that was too heavy to ignore. Slowly, your eyes drifted past Han Yun Jae to the rest of the crew standing a few feet away. Their faces were pressed with a mix of concern and curiosity, clearly having heard every word. 

Some of them exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to intervene or pretend they hadn’t just witnessed you snap. Others avoided eye contact entirely, their focus suddenly absorbed by the dirt beneath their boots. 

Heat rushed to your face as you realized the spectacle I’d just created. My hands clenched at your sides, embarrassment and anger bubbling together. you turned away from Yun Jae and the crew, your voice quieter but no less firm as you muttered, “This conversation is over.” 

Without another word, you walked off, ignoring the weight of their stares as you walked to get the samples. 

My footsteps crunch over the rocky terrain as you make your way toward the ridge, your breath shallow and uneven. you feel the weight of their eyes on your back—on both Yun Jae and you. But you don’t care. you can’t care anymore. 

You are not a kid. You are not the same person you was when you first met him, when you used to argue over everything like it was your only language. He might still see you as that naive child, but you are not. you won’t let him define you anymore. 

The harsh wind stings your skin as you reach the base of the ridge, your hands shaking as you adjust the sample container. you glance over your shoulder briefly, your mind still tangled with everything that’s happened. And, of course, Yun Jae is standing there, watching you with that cold, calculating gaze, his posture rigid as if waiting for you to make a mistake. 

You can’t stand it. 

You remember the first time you met him. you was just a kid—barely out of childhood, if I’m being honest—and he was always there. Always around because of your father. Han Yun Jae wasn’t just your father’s protégé; he was almost like a shadow. Quiet, intense, and seemingly perfect in everything he did. 

My father had always insisted that Yun Jae was a brilliant mind, someone who could shape the future of your father’s work, someone who deserved the respect of everyone around him. But you never saw him that way. 

To you, he was just your father’s trainee who treated you like you was beneath him. He never smiled, never showed anything that resembled warmth, and he always treated you like an inconvenience. A distraction. 

You hated that. you hated the way he looked at you with cold indifference, as if you was just a little girl who didn’t understand the world around you. He’d always brush you off, belittle your attempts to prove myself. At first, it was almost funny—his condescension was so obvious—but as you got older, it started to gnaw at you. you wanted to prove him wrong. you wanted to show him that you was more than just a child, that you could handle things on your own. 

But every time you tried, he pushed you further away. His icy demeanor only seemed to grow colder, and his words became sharper. 

“Don’t be so naive, Y/N,” he’d say, his voice always so cold and clipped. “You’ll never be able to understand. Stay out of it.” 

And you listened to him. you listened because he was older, because he had always been the smart one, the disciplined one. you was just the spoiled little girl of his mentor. 

But something changed after you hit your late teens. The more you pushed back, the more things began to shift. What started as petty bickering turned into real animosity. The tension between you grew, and your arguments became sharper, more cutting. There was no longer any pretense of camaraderie between us. you hated him. And somewhere, buried deep within his cold, emotionless exterior, you began to feel like he hated you too. 

It wasn’t just the typical friction of youth anymore. It became personal. It was as if he saw you as nothing more than an obstacle—a nuisance to be dealt with, nothing more.  

And as you continue collecting the sample, you can feel the weight of his presence behind you, but it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating as before. 

A few days later, after hours spent scanning and collecting samples, your head was spinning, and your body felt like it was on the verge of shutting down. Exhaustion and nausea clawed at you, and you wasn’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending you were fine. Because you weren't. 

You silently prayed you could hold on until you reached the base. Pressing a hand to your stomach, you tried to steady the roiling turmoil inside you. 

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Ha-neul said, her voice cutting through the haze clouding my thoughts. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked as you finally stepped through the base doors. 

You waved her off, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, just a little tired. I’ll rest soon.” 

You made your way to your quarters, your stomach churning with every step. As soon as you were inside, you rushed to the small bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and you barely had time to close your eyes before the nausea hit full force. 

You kneeled in front of the toilet, your body jerking with each wave of sickness. My stomach emptied itself, the bitter taste of bile rising in your throat. you couldn't stop it. It felt like it went on forever. 

After what felt like an eternity, you finally pulled yourself together enough to sit back on your heels, your mouth dry and your face pale. you took a few shallow breaths, trying to steady myself. Your mind was spinning—sick, tired, and overwhelmed by the weight of everything that had happened, everything that was happening. 

You stood, hands shaking, and rinsed your mouth with water, trying to rid yourself of the horrible taste. Reaching for your toothbrush and toothpaste, you began brushing your teeth automatically, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the racing thoughts in your head. 

It was then that you saw him. 

He was standing in the doorway behind you, his arms crossed, watching you through the mirror. you froze for a split second, your breath catching in your throat. you hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t noticed him at all. He looked so out of place, his cold stare boring into you even as you tried to keep your composure. 

But you couldn’t. Your heart was pounding. Still, you refused to look at him directly. you kept your eyes on the mirror, focusing on the task at hand—brushing your teeth, pretending he wasn’t there. 

You felt the pressure of his gaze, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. you just… kept brushing, as if you could make everything go away. 

Just as you was about to spit and rinse your mouth, his voice broke the silence. 

“Are you pregnant?” 

His words hit like a thunderclap, shocking you into stillness. you didn’t respond, not immediately. Your hand froze mid-rinse, and you had to fight to steady myself, your thoughts racing. 

He was right. Something was off. But you couldn’t let him know that. 

You finished rinsing, washing your mouth quickly as you replaced the toothpaste and toothbrush. 

The silence between you thickened. He was still standing there, his posture unchanged, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze never wavered, and you could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck. 

You turned slowly to face him, forcing a neutral expression, but inside, you were panicking. He was so close now. Too close. Your chest tightened with the sudden proximity. 

“What makes you think that?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, even though your heart was hammering in your chest. 

His eyes flickered with a slight, cold amusement. “You’ve been acting strange lately. More tired, more nauseous. The way you keep your distance when food comes around… You’ve been avoiding things, avoiding people. And the way you pale when you're on your feet too long—it all points in one direction." 

you laughed—too sharply, too quickly. “I’m just tired. You know, long missions and all that.” 

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unwavering. “And the fact that your periods haven’t come for 3 months? That’s just… coincidence?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. you couldn’t hide the shock in your eyes fast enough. “How do you know that?” you said, your voice betraying you with a slight quiver. 

Yun Jae’s gaze hardened, but he didn’t break eye contact. “I have your ways.” 

You backed away slightly, your heart racing, your mouth suddenly dry. "That's creepy," you muttered, trying to brush past him. you just needed to get out of there, away from his scrutiny. 

But before you could even turn the door handle, his voice stopped you in your tracks. “You didn’t respond.” you look at him but you turned back to the door, your hand on the handle, but before you could open it fully, he stepped forward, blocking your way. you didn’t look up at him, but his presence was suffocating. 

He leaned in, his voice lower now, the sharp edge gone. “You didn’t answer me.” he repeated in an irritated tone. 

You didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore. Your body was exhausted, your mind overwhelmed, and you just wanted to escape—escape this situation, escape him, escape the uncertainty swirling inside you. 

You met his eyes, standing tall despite the shakiness you felt inside. “You already know the answer,”the words coming out colder than you intended. 

Yun Jae’s gaze softened just a fraction, but the icy wall was still there, still firmly in place. He didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. 

And with that, you pushed past him, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, the cool metal of the ship offering no comfort anymore. you couldn’t let him get to you. Not now. Not when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. 

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more complicated. 

Days turned into weeks, and you avoided Yun Jae like the plague. you couldn’t face him—not after that conversation. Every meal became a calculated maneuver to dodge him. you either skipped eating entirely, braving the gnawing hunger, or grabbed your plate and retreated to your room or the lab. The smells of food only worsened the nausea, and you didn’t want him—or anyone else—noticing your discomfort. 

But no matter how much you tried to act like nothing was wrong, you could feel the truth pressing against you, literally. Your body was changing. Your bump was small but undeniable now, a subtle curve that you could no longer ignore. you started wearing baggier clothes, anything to keep it hidden. Yet you knew this wasn’t a problem you could cover up forever. 

Late at night, when you was alone in your quarters, the weight of it all would crush you. You would sit on the edge of your bed, your hands trembling as they rested on your growing belly. A part of you wanted to reject it, deny what was happening. But the fluttering beneath your fingers was impossible to ignore. A tiny life was growing inside you, and it terrified you. 

You found yourself crying more often than you cared to admit. Silent, muffled sobs into your pillow as you thought about everything you would imagined for your first child. You'd always pictured being married, having a partner by your side, someone you could lean on when things got tough. you thought about warm nurseries, family gatherings, and laughter. Not this—being stranded on a distant planet, surrounded by cold metal walls, with the father of your child barely able to tolerate you. 

The thought of Yun Jae made the tears come harder. you didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you had always cared about his opinion, even when you claimed to hate him. And now, the idea of raising this child alone, of carrying this weight by myself, was unbearable 

The days blurred together, and you kept your distance from Yun Jae. you didn’t start conversations—not with him. When he spoke to you, it was only about the mission. 

When it came to meals, you continued your routine of avoidance. The smells in the mess hall used to turn your stomach, but now that you was in your second trimester, your nausea had finally eased. you started enjoying food again—more than you ever had before. you were eating everything in sight. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit with the crew. You’d grab your plate and retreat to your room or the lab. It was better than facing Yun Jae’s gaze, which had changed in ways you couldn’t understand. 

You’d catch him looking at you, his dark eyes fixed on you from across the room. It wasn’t the usual cold glare. There was something else there—concern, maybe. Worry? you wasn’t sure. All you knew was that it made your skin crawl. It made you feel exposed, like he could see everything you were trying so hard to hide. 

The lab was eerily quiet after everyone left. you worked in silence, the hum of machinery and the occasional beep from the scanner your only companions. It was better this way—being alone. you could focus on your work without the weight of their stares or the hushed conversations that sometimes carried your name when they thought you weren't listening. 

Before leaving, Ha-neul had paused by your workstation, her gaze lingering with concern. 

“Y/N, do you want me to bring you a plate?” she asked, her voice gentle but persistent. 

“I’m not hungry,” you replied curtly, not looking up from my work. 

She hesitated but eventually nodded, joining the others as they filed out of the lab. The door hissed shut behind them, and you sighed, grateful for the solitude. 

Minutes passed, maybe longer. you was deep in analysis, your hands deftly adjusting the settings on the equipment, when the door opened again. you ignored it, assuming someone had forgotten something. 

It wasn’t until a plate slid onto the desk beside you that you stopped. 

You blinked at it, the steam from the food curling up in delicate tendrils. Slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes meeting Yun Jae’s. He stood there, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of worry in his usually sharp features. In his other hand, he held a second plate—his own, you assumed. 

“Eat,” he said simply, his tone firm but not unkind. 

“I’m not hungry,” you shot back, your voice colder than you intended. You turned my attention back to my work, determined to ignore him. 

But then, as if on cue, your stomach betrayed you with a loud, unmistakable growl. 

You froze, heat creeping up your neck. 

When you glanced back at him, he was smirking faintly, the corner of his mouth tugged up in amusement. Without a word, he sat down beside you, placing his own plate on the desk and beginning to eat, his movements unhurried. 

“Eat,” he repeated, pushing your plate closer to you. 

You scowled, reluctant but too hungry to argue with your body. Picking up a fork, you took a small bite, chewing slowly as you tried to focus back on your work. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked after a moment, your tone flat as you glanced at him. 

“I want to talk,” he replied, his focus seemingly on his food. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, taking another small bite, though your eyes never left the screen in front of you. 

He didn’t respond immediately, and for a while, the only sound between you was the scrape of utensils against plates. But you could feel his gaze on you, studying you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less direct. 

You didn’t answer, refusing to look at him. 

“Why do you keep acting like this?” he pressed, his tone teetering between frustration and concern. 

“I’m not acting like anything,” you snapped, dropping your fork onto the plate with a clatter. “I’m working, Yun Jae. If you’re done eating, you can leave.” 

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, you thought he might argue, but instead, he reached out and pushed his plate closer to mine, his movements slow and deliberate. 

“Eat,” he said again, his voice quieter now, almost gentle, as if he knew how close you were to snapping but didn’t want to push you further. 

Then, without another word, he stood and left the lab, the door hissing shut behind him. The sound lingered in the air, leaving an emptiness you couldn’t shake. 

You stared at the two plates of food in front of you, your appetite wavering despite the persistent gnawing in your stomach. His plate sat there, untouched except for the few bites he’d taken, a silent gesture that felt heavier than it should have. 

For a moment, you felt the weight of it all press down on me—the loneliness, the tension between you, the secret you were carrying that was slowly changing everything. My fingers tightened around the fork as you fought back the emotion rising in your chest. 

The food blurred in front of you, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe. you hated this—hated how he always seemed to know when to show up, hated the way he lingered in your thoughts even when you wanted to forget him. Most of all, you hated the way his quiet actions, like leaving his plate behind, managed to make you feel so unsteady. 

Finally, you forced yourself to take another bite, chewing slowly as you tried to focus on the work in front of you. But no matter how much you tried to ignore it, the two plates beside each other felt like a conversation left unfinished, one that you wasn’t sure you was ready to have. 

The kitchen was dimly lit, the soft hum of the ship's systems the only sound in the background. you shuffled quietly, rubbing your eyes and trying not to make too much noise. Hunger clawed at you, relentless and impossible to ignore. Sleep wasn’t going to come until you satisfied it. 

After searching through the shelves, you finally found something that looked promising—a container of fruit, sealed tightly with a stubborn lid. you gripped it with both hands, bracing it against your body as you twisted, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustration built with each attempt, the hunger making your movements clumsier. 

Unbeknownst to you, Yun Jae had been there the whole time, leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets. He watched silently as you struggled, his cold, observant gaze fixed on you. 

“Do you want some help?” his voice cut through the silence suddenly, calm and steady as always. 

The sound startled you so badly that the container slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. My heart jumped, and you spun around to glare at him. 

“God, Yun Jae!” you hissed, clutching my chest as if that could steady my racing heart. 

He didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize for startling you. He just stood there, his expression unreadable as his eyes shifted briefly to the container on the floor. 

You stayed quiet, refusing to look at him directly. Instead, you bent down, picking up the container with shaky hands. Your face burned with embarrassment, but you ignored it, turning your back to him and trying once again to open the lid. 

It was no use. No matter how hard you tried, the lid wouldn’t move. And then, without realizing it, you felt the tears start to fall. 

At first, you didn’t notice them, too focused on your stubborn attempts to twist the lid. But soon, the drops blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away. Your hands trembled as you tried to compose myself, but the harder you fought, the more the tears came. 

It wasn’t the lid. It wasn’t even the hunger. It was everything. The pregnancy, the isolation, the weight of being stranded on this alien planet. The fact that you were carrying this alone, with no one to lean on. 

Before you could spiral further, you felt strong arms wrap around you from behind, firm yet gentle. 

You froze, your breath hitching as Yun Jae carefully took the container from your hands and placed it on the counter nearby. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his arms circling you in a quiet but steady embrace. 

The warmth of his presence broke something in you. you let out a shuddering sob, your body trembling as the floodgates opened completely. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and calm as his hand came up to gently rub your arm. “Let it out.” 

His tone wasn’t soft or warm—he wasn’t the type—but there was something in his voice, a quiet steadiness, that made you feel like you didn’t have to hold everything together for once. 

He turned you around slowly, guiding you until your forehead was pressed against his chest. His hand slid to the small of your back, holding you close, while his other hand rested lightly on the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his words deliberate, almost hesitant. 

You didn’t respond, couldn’t. you just stayed there, your face buried in his chest as the tears came harder. 

He held you through it all, his hand moving gently along your back in a soothing rhythm. “Calm down,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

Minutes passed like this—his steady presence anchoring you as you slowly began to calm down. The tears slowed, your breathing evened out. you realized, almost absently, that your arms had wrapped around his torso, holding onto him without even thinking about it. 

When you finally pulled away, he let you go, though his hands lingered for a moment as if making sure you was steady. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, you saw something different in them—something softer, more vulnerable. 

“You’ve been holding this in for too long,” he said, his tone still calm but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. 

You wiped at your face, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t need your pity,” you muttered under your breath. 

“Gosh, Y/N, this isn’t pity,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Why do you always have to be in denial?” 

Silence stretched between you before he broke it. 

“For twenty years, I’ve kept my distance,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Your father—he was the closest thing I had to a hero. He taught me everything, and when you joined the organization, I told myself I’d protect you. For him.” 

You glanced up at him, startled by the admission. He looked away briefly, as if uncomfortable with saying it aloud. 

“But I didn’t know how,” he continued, his voice steady again. “You were reckless, stubborn—always throwing yourself into danger without thinking.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off. 

“And I—” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Or you. You weren’t just some kid anymore. Not to me.” 

My breath caught, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. 

“You were twenty when I started noticing,” he said, his tone cool but deliberate. “But you were too young, and I couldn’t—” He shook his head. “I couldn’t let myself feel that way. So I kept my distance. I thought it was better that way.” 

Confused by his words, you frowned. “Wait, you don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” 

He hesitated for a moment, looking away as if gathering his courage. When his eyes finally met yours again, they were filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I have feelings for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but steady. 

You froze, completely shocked by the confession. He continued, his words tumbling out as if they’d been bottled up for too long. “I started falling for you when you joined the organization. At first, it felt wrong—I thought I shouldn’t feel that way. So I tried to keep your distance, to be cold with you. You’re your mentor’s daughter, and you’re so much younger than me. I mean—I'm ancient, as you call me.” He chuckled softly, and despite myself, you found the corners of your mouth twitching upward. 

“And it’s true,” he added, his tone gentler now. “At times, I thought of you like a kid. I felt like I owed your father everything, and protecting you was my way of honoring him.” 

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before he continued. “But you’re not a kid anymore.” His gaze held mine, steady and unflinching. “You’re a woman. And now…” His eyes flickered briefly to your stomach, his expression softening. “Now, you’re carrying a life.” 

Before you could respond, he turned, grabbed the container from the counter, and opened it effortlessly. He handed it back to you without a word, his expression unreadable. 

You took it, your back turning to him as you started eating quietly, savoring the fruit. But then, you felt his arms wrap around you again, this time from behind. 

His hand moved to rest gently on your belly, his fingers brushing against the curve. “It’s gotten big,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “How the hell have you been hiding this?” 

You laughed softly despite myself, shaking your head. “Baggy clothes.” 

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles, and for the first time, you let yourself relax into his touch. You stayed like that for a while, the silence between you comfortable and unspoken. Once you were done eating, and since neither of you could sleep, you wandered to the balcony. 

We sat there until sunrise, talking about everything—the baby, potential names, your relationship.  

For the first time, you didn’t feel like he was treating you like a kid. 

A dancer dies twice

LeonKennedy x ballet!fem!reader

Summary: Leon attends ballet performances from time to time and a certain dancer caught his eye. An unexpected turn occurred and the favored ballet dancer stopped performing, causing Leon’s heart to break a little.

Warning: comfort/angst. mention of depression and weight loss. not proofread lol. nothing sexual but still.

a/n: I’ve been having this idea for quite some time lol. Why did I stop ballet dancing? Idk, I was a dumb kid lmao.

“A dancer dies twice - one when they stop dancing, and this first death is painful.”

The curtains were closed as Leon walked towards his reserved seat in the house. He wasn’t like other people nowadays dressing causally, he dressed up in his fancy suit. The first button of his dress shirt unbuttoned, just the way he always preferred. He finally got himself a small vacation and what better way to enjoy the weekend than watching a group of people dance along to Tchaikovsky?

He shifted in his seat as he looked over the pamphlet of the acts. He doesn’t know a thing about ballet but he does know that he likes the emotions conveyed in the way the dancers move. Whether it was the betrayal in Swan Lake or the serene feeling of the sugarplum fairy from The Nutcracker, he loved it all. But he would never admit it to his colleagues.

The orchestra began to play in a crescendo as the curtains pulled open, revealing a group of white dressed ballerinas huddled in a circle. And that’s when that serene feeling came. The ballerinas danced in their point shoes as their skirts moved gracefully every time they did a pirouette. It felt magical and he felt a sense of relief. Leon was an analytical guy, he analyzes everything he sees and tonight was no different. For tonight, he noticed a certain new dancer. Her hair tied up in the same bun as the other ballerinas but somehow it looked better on her. The white corset she was wearing hugged her lean figure just right, her arms moved under the spotlight swiftly. As if she was a doll. This was her performance.

Leon kept attending each time he could just to watch her. To watch the way her arm and leg angled perfectly at every arabesque she did, her grand jeté followed by the common chassé. She was just breathtaking. As if her purpose was to dance all night. And she did. She was the white swan. She was Clara. For months he watched as she slowly took over the main roles, she was that good.

But all that good came down with a price. Recently, he noticed the way she started to appear less and less. She danced the lesser roles now. And he couldn’t help but wonder why? Was she okay? Is she taking care of herself? For nights he felt worried. He even searched up her name online to find her social media. But the poor man couldn’t find it. It’s like all she did was perform.

Until one day, he spotted her walking down the street from her dance studio. He was out for a smoke when he saw her in her practice clothes, backpack over her shoulders as she walked towards her car. His eyes widened at the sight and he quickly threw his cigarette on the floor and put it out with his foot. He looked both ways before crossing the street and began to make his way towards her.

She didn’t notice until he spoke out to her, “Hey, you performed last week, right?” He asked even though he knew the answer already. She turned around and looked at him surprised but quickly smiled politely.

“Yes, I did. Did you enjoy the show?” She asked in her quiet voice, she seemed tired. He couldn’t help but nod as he looked down at her. “Yeah- you were amazing.” He mumbled under his breath, his heart beating fast as he began to feel his ears turn pink. She was even more beautiful up close.

And god was her laugh even more breathtaking. She giggled at his words and that only made him want to make her laugh even more. Just to hear that beautiful laugh.

It’s been a few days after their exchange and he couldn’t help but feel like a teenage boy for being able to get her Instagram. Turns out she purposely hid her account from the ballet house. Makes sense since she looked like the type to not want to be bombarded with messages from strangers.

They texted for some time and he kept attending her shows. He even bought her flowers after one performance in which she got the main role again. His heart nearly bursted into little pieces as he watched the look of surprise and joy on her face when she saw the flowers. He wanted to make this girl happy, as much as he could. So he kept bringing her gifts. And she kept them in a special memory box. It was all so romantic.

One day, she was walking home from dance practice with her headphones on. She was talking to Leon on the phone about some minor things like how much her feet hurt and how she needed new shoes. And he listened to her, no matter how much she talked because she talked a lot. He took in every word and analyzed it. Should he buy her the shoes? He would gladly spend his money on her if it meant she’ll keep dancing. If it meant she’ll keep following her dreams.

It was all going great until she noticed a car swerving slightly. She shrugged and kept walking as she talked to Leon over the phone. The car kept getting closer and closer until it swerved right into her direction. Her instincts jumped in and she was able to dodge the car, but her leg got caught under the tire. She screamed in pain and Leon quickly tracked down her location. He got his keys and drove to her, he didn’t care how fast he was going. He needed to be there, he needed to help her.

When he parked on the side of the road, he saw her holding on her leg as the driver staggered in his walk. He was drunk, Leon thought to himself. A drunk driver just ran over a dancer. A ballet dancer’s worst dream came true in the snap of a finger. Leon felt a lot of things. Anger, frustration, sadness, he felt it all. And his heart broke even more as he saw how much she was crying. He ran to her side and quickly called the ambulance.

He sat waiting in the lobby of the hospital as she was undergoing surgery. She had suffered a bone fracture and needed immediate medical attention. He stayed up as much as he could and waited for her. He would ask any doctor how she was doing, and honestly, no one told him anything yet.

Her assigned doctor finally came out and approached Leon. He told him that she was currently sleeping from the anesthesia but that he could see her. And he rushed towards the room she was in.

He saw how she laid on the bed, peacefully sleeping. He saw how she had wires tied to her arm. He heard the sound of her heart monitor beep at a normal pace. He slowly approached her and sat on the chair next to her bed. Leon took her hand and squeezed it gently. He couldn’t do anything except wait for her to open her eyes.

And he waited.

She slowly opened her eyes and looked around as her vision tried to adjust to the harsh hospital lights. She looked down at Leon’s head resting on her bed as he held on to her hand. She smiled softly until she looked down at the cast on her leg. Her face fell and her heart shattered.

Her quiet sobs reached Leon’s ears and he woke up immediately. He cupped her face with his hands and brought her to his chest as she cried. She wrapped her hands around his back and held on to him. Her whole passion and dreams were now gone. And it wasn’t even her fault.

She spent months in her bed, getting up only to eat and go to the bathroom. But that was it. Leon took the liberty to take care of her. To bathe her, to feed her, to try and distract her. But she always had that emptiness in her eyes. Her light was gone and she was no longer under the spotlight. The ballet house had to let her go since her leg was so injured she couldn’t dance ballet anymore. She could dance but just not ballet. And it broke her soul.

She would no longer wait for the curtains to open, she would no longer dance along to the orchestra, she would no longer spot Leon sitting among the crowd watching her. It was all gone.

Leon slept on the couch as he took care of her. But even from the living room he could hear her cries. He noticed the way she lost her muscle and lost weight.

He walked to her room and sat down on the side of the bed with food. “You need to eat, y/n…” he spoke softly as he laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m not hungry.”

He couldn’t do anything but frown. He didn’t want to force her to get better but he also hated seeing her in this state. He would do anything to go back in time and prevented the whole thing from even happening.

He helped her shower, kneeling down against the bathtub as she had her back to him. She had her knees on her chest and hugged her legs. His fingers gently massaged the shampoo into her scalp. It wasn’t anything sexual. He was just trying to help her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled under her breath as he poured water down her hair to wash off the shampoo. He furrowed his brows and replied back in a soft voice, “What for?”

She rested her chin on her knees and continued, “For all of this. I feel like a burden to you. You could be doing better things but instead you’re taking care of my depressed ass…”

His heart broke again, his fingers stopped going through her wet hair as he tried to think of a way to reply to her. “You’re not a burden… I chose to take care of you, none of this is your fault…” he whispered softly. She frowned as he kept washing her hair, “I know but… I just feel so… empty.”

He couldn’t do anything except stare at the back of her head with a sad look. He kept washing her hair and her body in silence. He wasn’t a man of words but he hoped that his actions spoke for the lack communication. He hoped she took his actions as a way of comfort. Because he knows what it’s like to lose something you love. He knows that feeling all too well.

He helped her into some new pajamas and tucked her to bed. He was about to leave when she took hold of his wrist, “Stay.”

She wanted him to stay.

And he did. He laid down next to her on the bed. She laid her head on his chest and cried. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. His shirt getting wet from her tears but he didn’t care. Leon ran his hand through her hair as the other rubbed her back gently. Her hands gripped on his shirt as she sobbed.

Her head remained on his chest as she slept after crying. And he did not move. He stayed like he told her to. Not because he was forced, but because he wanted to.

And he’d stay all the time if he was able to.